


Some Mistakes Lead to Gifts Abound

by brokenmemento



Series: Lengthy Prompt Fics [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Eventual Relationships, F/F, Feelings Realization, Fluff and Angst, Magic, Mayhem, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenmemento/pseuds/brokenmemento
Summary: Yennefer works to cast a pregnancy spell on herself and it goes horribly, terribly wrong. That is until it doesn't.Update: and now, a continuation of how it all works out.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Lengthy Prompt Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012227
Comments: 22
Kudos: 145





	1. The Conception and Birth of Truda

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MinaMauveine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinaMauveine/gifts).



> *So this should go in my Prompt Fic story but it got away from me and I wrote 3x as much as one of those.  
> **There are probably way better baby fics than this...heck, I've even read one from one of you that squeezed my heart out. But I am delivering this as part of a requested prompt. Please suspend any hard beliefs to cannon and also get ready for a wild trip of a narrative. That being said, I hope you enjoy this, minamauveine. Sorry it took over a month to think of something!  
> ***I’m also not in love with the baby name but it’s Polish and means “warrior woman” or “spear strength” which somehow just seemed right.

She doesn’t start out wanting a child. Rather the idea comes from watching others be absolute shite at it. Because Yennefer knows that she could do better, would do better if she’d just be given the chance. 

True enough, she’s made noise all across the Continent. There has been little that she has not tried and absolutely nothing that has worked to restore the womb that was yanked from her body and thrown to sizzle in flames. 

Improbably, she sometimes thinks she can feel the phantom sensation of it. Of it withering to black as it dies. And not one thing has done an iota to bring it back. 

Tissaia had chastised her over it in Rinde. Made her feel ridiculous for chasing something that could not be done. But that was before she’d met a golden dragon. Before the golden dragon had told her that her womb was beyond saving. Before that golden dragon beckoned her forth again claiming to have something she might need. 

She stands in the cave from many moons ago, looks at Borch’s sad eyes. Wonders why he cannot find happiness either, just like has eluded Yennefer most of her life. 

“When last we spoke, our lesson was in loss,” the golden dragon begins. “And I fear this time, the theme is much the same.”

Yennefer spots the unhatched egg, only it no longer glows. Her heart squeezes in her chest and she feels her throat go dry. “What happened?” It comes out strangled, distorted by grief for the kind creature who she knew once upon a time.

“It seems that life is precarious at best and downright fragile at worst. The things we hope come to pass are sometimes just beautiful and lovely dreams. Like mine.” He’s in his dragon form, but Yennefer can see the melancholy in him just like she hears it with his words. 

“Why call upon me then?” she wonders. Suddenly, she wants to be very far away. She should have never come at all. 

“Because you understand the need for a life to have a mother. It seems these things cannot be done without someone guiding us into existence. For my dear offspring, that could never happen.”

Yennefer sniffs, anxious, upset. “I’ve lived the bulk of my life without one.” Her mind goes to Tissaia. It immediately dismisses her as such. There’s too much there to wade through. “I turned out alright.”

“You had one to lead you into the world. Maybe not since then but surely in the beginning. With my child never fluttering its eyes open, I feel my life has ceased to have meaning. Which is why I’ve called you here today once more.” 

Something dark inside Yennefer prickles, a sense of foreboding. She does not like where this is headed. “Borch…”

“We breathe, our hearts beat because of what we love. Of who loves us. I have neither of those things. Dragons are even rarer since last we saw one another. I know my pairing with one is slim to none. Nor does my heart feel the want to do so. This is why I am giving it to you.” He tilts his head, watching. 

“I cannot do this. No potential treatment is worth a life. This is not a give-one-get-one scenario.” Yennefer shakes her head. 

“At one point, it was for you. Have you lost the part of you that wanted such? Is she not inside of you somewhere still?”

Tears form in her eyes. She becomes angry. “You act as if I’m some heathen with no regard for life. The bold, brash part of me wanted to find you for some grandiose idea. The one who I truly am would have arrived at the same result: empty arms for all eternity. You said it yourself anyway. That my womb will never recover.”

“Life is not linear, Yennefer of Vengeberg. It has loops and winding pathways. It takes us where we sometimes never intend to go. This is one such loop.” He moves slowly toward her. The cave shakes with his progress, dust billows as he settles on his belly and lays down his head. “You are a warrior woman. Take my heart as such. Draw the sword at your hip. You have my blessing.”

“This is wrong,” Yennefer cannot help the sob that escapes. She is not this woman he thinks. She absolutely cannot be. Her weapon remains untouched at her side. 

Borch inches closer, nuzzles her hand with his long snout. She looks into his yellow eyes. “You saved me once. Tried to give me greater purpose and meaning. Let me do that for you now.”

Moments drag. Maybe hours. When she plunges the sword into his chest, the cry that escapes her does not resemble a human. It rattles the rock walls like the once majestic dragon who called the place home. 

//

She is sitting across the chair from her but in her mind, she’s a million miles away. Her vision is blurry, unfocused. A snap shatters her reverie.

“Have I bored you to tears or are you shrinking into your proclivity to ignore whatever comes out of my mouth?” Tissaia’s look is vexing. She looks so much better with the dimeritium out of her system. 

“I was thinking on something,” Yennefer answers vaguely. 

“The war is all but over. I figured you, of all people, would rejoice in that,” Tissaia says tersely. 

_Because of what we went through._ That goes unspoken. Yennefer knows though that if lungs can be cleared and eyes can be restored, perhaps it is the time for realizing the potential of what she’s gained but never used.

“I’m going to try a fertility cure,” Yennefer says airily, her look going far off again.

“Gods, not this again. Have we not been down this path before, Yennefer?” Tissaia looks exasperated. Her face is hard, annoyed. 

Yennefer leans forward and whispers. “Yes, but before, I did not have the heart of a golden dragon at my disposal.”

This stills Tissaia completely. Her eyes grow worried though and Yennefer tries to ignore them altogether. Still, it feels gratifying to have Tissaia stop her berating for once. Sodden has changed things, but there is still too much not being said. 

“And what is it you plan to do?” She watches the Rectoress lean back in her chair, the worry flitting from her face and passivity overtaking.

“Why, hold the ritual, of course.” 

Tissaia lunges forward, both palms gripping at her desk. “This is a foolish endeavor. I don’t see why you’re so bent on it. I mean, after all this time…”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Yennefer motions her fingers open and closed like a mouth. “All dangers aside, the reward is rather worth it.”

“I’ll not let you go through with this. I cannot allow it.”

“As if you have a say at all,” Yennefer rises, indignation taking over. She steeples her fingers atop Tissaia’s desk too. “This is my life. You’ve no right to dictate it at all anymore.”

Yennefer thinks she’s pinned the woman. That she will never be able to move. That words will not form. Taking this as her cue, she spins around to leave. Before she reaches the door, Tissaia speaks in a whisper. 

“At least let me be there when you do.”

Yennefer, improbably again, agrees. 

//

“I do not like this,” Tissaia shakes her head and wiggles a little upon her knees that are tucked under her. 

She looks perturbed, but Yennefer dismisses it. She could think of many other things that would wipe it away from her visage but she refrains, instead working to set up the candles on the floor and etch the inscriptions on the stones. 

When the scrutiny of Tissaia’s eyes becomes too much, Yennefer finds herself losing patience. She slides the jar with the embalmed dragon heart over to touch Tissaia’s bent knees, adding the mortar and pestle. 

“Instead of dithering about, make yourself useful,” Yennefer points. “I need that ground for the paste. Which I know you know how to make.” It’s a challenge. One Yennefer expects Tissaia to bite at. 

“I said I wanted to be here when you conducted this little charade, not partake in it. And the reason this has never amounted to more than an old wives' tale is that sorceresses simply do not come into possession of such things.” Tissaia grabs the jar roughly. “And not from lack of trying.”

“Then consider me the luckiest broad to walk the land since the Convergence of Spheres,” Yennefer throws her shoulders back in mock pride. 

Well, not exactly. This cure has come from great strife and heartache. It’s not lightly that Yennefer has prepared the ceremony today. The life left behind looms in the past. She feels her mood grow darker. 

When Tissaia has effectively turned the muscles and sinews of the heart into a bumpy paste, she looks up warily. Yennefer already knows she knows what comes next. She shifts the gauzelike fabric of her gown upward, exposing her hips and stomach. She motions to Tissaia. 

“Inscribe the ruins,” she points. 

Tissaia has seemed to have zoned out. She’s holding the pestle in her hand still but had looked away as soon as Yennefer began working at her garment. This fact makes Yennefer smile a bit. 

“Come on, Tissaia. We’ve got the same parts. Let’s to it,” she encourages again. 

Blue eyes fix on her. “I’m quite sure my parts don’t look exactly like yours.” She huffs during the delivery but drags her fingers across the red goop and scoots closer to begin the etchings on Yennefer’s belly. 

It’s odd to be touched like this and by Tissaia on top of it. Before she had even touched Yennefer though, she had moved the woman’s hands over herself. Concerned with practicing the utmost degree of modesty. 

When she’s done, Yennefer watches her wipe her fingers with a rag. “Now you get on with it. I’ve not got all day.”

So Yennefer begins. 

She lights the candles, speaks the words of the chant. A breeze brushes against her neck and Tissaia jerks at its arrival. Her jaw is set, but she remains silent as she observes. 

_It is the time of harvest,_

_My womb fills_

_The ears of grain are swollen_

_My womb fills_

_The ears of grain are splitting_

_It is time._

_Bring forth_

_Bring forth_

_Bring forth_

_In the power and the love_

Yennefer says the words, manifests a womb in her mind. Imagines it overflowing, full up. Can imagine the fluttering of life within it, like a tickling that can know no reprieve. 

She’s so far inside of the idea that she fails to notice the breeze has turned into a wind. That from the smoke of the expended candles rises a dragon-like monstrosity that hovers over the two of them, maw opening and dripping with ether. 

“Cut the link,” she hears Tissaia say in the distance. And _no_ , this cannot be like the djinn all over again. “Dammit, Yennefer, listen for once in your life!”

Yennefer’s eyes snap open to see the dragon creature of smoke and mist hovering over her, only to have it dive at her gut a split second later. It feels as if her insides are clenching, twisting up into tangles of themselves. The scream she lets out is ear-splitting. 

_Not again._

_~No, not again._

It comes to Yennefer telepathically. She works through the pain and tears to look upon Tissaia. She lurches over in agony. “Stop whatever it is you plan on doing!” Yennefer tries to stop her with an upheld hand.

“It’s not working!” Tissaia cries and flails wildly, miming to Yennefer doubled over. 

“It could be restoring my womb, mending it!” 

Her head is jerked up roughly, fingers pressing angrily into her jaw. She stares into Tissaia’s eyes. They are so blue…

“It’s not and you will die if you do not let go of this right now!”

Before she can scream out for Tissaia to stop, she hears the woman speaking words in Elder and sees her fingertips begin to dance. Yennefer lunges, feels the substance on her belly smear onto Tissaia’s dress as she tackles the Rectoress sloppily. 

The candles roll over and a growling burst of air sends a shock wave out into the room. Yennefer is left writhing on the ground in recovery. Tissaia looks equally affected. 

Her eyes are wide and mouth agape. Yennefer cuts her off through tears. “What the fuck did you do?”

Tissaia sits up quickly, pawing at her dress. At her abdomen. Repeating ‘no’ over and over again. Yennefer wipes her eyes and fixes her dress that has slipped off her body some. Apprehension begins to spread. 

“Tissaia…”

“I knew I should have never let you go through with this!” Tissaia yells and rises from the ground shakily. 

“What just happened?” She’s wary now. She almost knows the answer. “Please tell me you aren’t in possession of your womb.””

Tissaia looks stricken. Her hand goes to her forehead. Her words come out pained. “It was not required of women when I was enchanted.” 

Oh no.

Yennefer’s eyes flit to the woman’s belly. She gets up now and walks to where Tissaia stands, clearly distraught. Heedless, she reaches out and touches the woman’s gut. 

“Did I just get you pregnant?” It’s the stupidest fucking question she’s ever asked. That’s if the answer were anything different. 

“It would appear that way.”

Yennefer falls to her knees, presses her face into the woman’s stomach. Maybe she weeps for a myriad of reasons. 

//

The first thing either of them speaks isn’t pleasant. Yennefer looks up with tear-stained cheeks. Her heart aches with what she’s about to offer. 

“I know...remedies. I brewed many with Queen Kalis when she was with a female child.” It hurts to even suggest this. “We can take care of this quickly and efficiently.

“Yennefer,” Tissaia says in anguish. “I cannot.”

She falls to her knees then. They both cry and hold onto one another for dear life.

//

“I mean, is this even biologically possible? Aren’t you older than the Mahakam hills?” Yennefer tries to reason through what’s happened. She’s bargaining to make it make sense. 

“Just because I’m older than you doesn’t mean I have withered beyond usefulness,” Tissaia retorts. 

Yennefer stops pacing and puts her hands on her hips. “I know actually telling me your age in mage years will prove useless. But what would the equivalent be in human ones?”

The woman looks introspective then turns to Yennefer with a resigned face. “Forty-one.”

“Oh, fuck.” Yennefer slumps a little. 

“Yes, precisely that.” The room goes quiet again.

//

It grows. For a woman who never even had a scare of it, never even knew her body could be a vessel for life, it grows. 

Yennefer hangs around. Makes Aretuza her home again. Or maybe for the first time. The past is a bit of a gray cloud, so Yennefer doesn’t dwell too much on the semantics of it. Or of the fact that she cannot bear to think of leaving Tissaia in her current state: very with child and very much Yennefer’s doing. 

She’d call it fault, but she’s had weeks to get used to the idea of not carrying a child. Of never feeling a womb holding life. Even though she’s likely to never encounter another dragon heart as long as she lives (nor a golden one at that) she’s had time to rearrange the anger. To have it become something else. 

A rare thing starts to form, even rarer than the child that grows in Tissaia’s belly or the dragon heart that created it. Yennefer could be incredibly bitter, uncompromisingly jaded. The old her certainly would have been. Seeming to vanish with the tears though, so too did the idea of hating Tissaia for once again rearranging Yennefer’s life. 

Maybe Yennefer rearranges it herself as Tissaia’s body bears the markers of the life within, as it swells. Yennefer watches silently as the woman still holds to her Rectoress duties, still holds classes. Only she places a glamour over her, hiding the secret that belongs to her and Yennefer alone.

Either way, Yennefer stays. Aretuzan life becomes like a second skin. If anyone wonders about her presence, they never utter it. Perhaps she dreams of other skin she would like to know. She stops herself from wallowing in it. 

She’s happy. That feeling is most precious. 

//

“We need to make arrangements,” Yennefer scrutinizes Tissaia’s very round stomach. A grape rolls to the edge of a platter. Yennefer flicks it into the nearby fire with impeccable aim. 

Tissaia makes a sound through her nose at the act but then places her hands atop herself again, gently rubbing. Yennefer watches the path of her hands. Feels the tugging urge, so she reaches out to slowly push aside where the small palms rest. 

This is something not new, but it feels like it every time. Tissaia lets Yennefer touch her like this now, lets Yennefer press her fingers along the indentations created with a foot and an elbow rippling flesh. 

Less than a handful of times, she’s even let Yennefer brush against the bare skin of her after a bath or between dressing. To touch the undulating movement as the life below twists around. 

“What does it feel like?” Yennefer leans even more forward and presses her lips to Tissaia’s belly. It’s an act she knows she can get away with because of the fabric in between her mouth and Tissaia’s flesh. Something she would never accomplish if Tissaia were only draped in a dressing gown across her breasts and private area. 

Tissaia addresses Yennefer’s question and not her first comment. “Like my life force is being drained from the inside,” she says wearily but then smiles. “But also unlike anything I have reference to explain. The way it moves, the effect it has on my body. Not unlike chaos swirling but both rougher and more gentle at the same time.” She shakes her head. “It’s bizarre, really, the quickening.”

Not for the first time, Yennefer feels like apologizing. Again. Because she can never release the guilt she feels over pushing for something that ended up like this. 

“I’m sure,” Yennefer agrees, no frame of reference from within herself either. 

“I haven’t forgotten your word choice from a moment ago either,” Tissaia reminds. 

Yennefer waits, ready with a glowering look. She pushes away from Tissaia’s body and sits back in her chair. “Do you have an aversion to me including myself in your upcoming event?” She’s sure the chastisement is forthcoming.

The clouds part and there is only sun. Tissaia leans in now, works to hold Yennefer’s hand. “Anything but.” It’s the most sincere thing she’s ever heard Tissaia speak. 

//

They agree to let Yennefer go ahead to make preparations for the upcoming birth. While being far from a nurse, Yennefer knows she’s quite skilled at potions and other remedies to ease pain. 

The actual baby part, well, might prove a harder experience. She’s made sure to acquire the supplies potentially needed—something to sever the umbilical, warm blankets in abundance, towels, and other thickly bolted cloth to staunch any bleeding. Wood sits in the hearth and the windows have been covered to darken the room. 

The dwelling is hidden as well as can be expected, not many making their way into the Temerian swamps other than a small village of brick makers nearby, some druids, a visiting dryad upon occasion, and a ragtag group of Scoia'tael. 

Tissaia had frowned at the location, but Yennefer had to ensure that very few would even want to venture in search of them, much less through a forest of bogs. If Yennefer is any indicator, the place of one's birth has little bearing on who they become though. No doubt, the child will have a life not tied to what Yennefer sees out of the door. 

Her thoughts go to the hard-headed woman still walking the Aretuzan halls instead of laying in. Yennefer kicks at the birthing stool a little, rearranging it with her feet. She hopes that the Rectoress sticks to their agreement. Dragging her through a portal by her high collar isn’t something Yennefer wants to do. 

She ends up falling asleep, a deep and dreamless slumber. A faint nudge at her cheek pulls her out after a while and she brings a hand to her chest, eyes still bleary but knowing who stands before her. 

It seems there will be no theatrics, thankfully. Tissaia is finally here. Yennefer falls back onto the bed again, reaches out a hand to caress Tissaia’s belly.

//

The Rectoress goes into labor the fourth day and Yennefer, despite being prepared, is a ball of nerves. She keeps cool cloths pressed to the woman’s head, she brings water to her lips for small sips. 

The room is dark and warm, what some might even call cozy. But Yennefer feels on edge every time Tissaia tries to suppress a groan but fails. 

“Try breathing in and out slowly. Push yourself to the other side of your pain with measured breaths,” Yennefer tries. 

“Oh, how lovely a suggestion, Yennefer. Whatever would I do without your astute observations and wisdom?” Tissaia spits out venomously during a pained contraction. When she falls over onto the bed, spent, her eyes go glassy and remorseful. “I’m sorry. It feels like I’m being ripped apart from the inside.”

Yennefer glances at the birthing stool, thinks of suggesting it but goes against the idea. Instead, she walks to Tissaia’s feet, taps on a knee lightly. “I need to check,” she mutters. She’s done it by feel alone so far but as quickly as Tissaia’s abdomen splitting pain arrives, it is past that point.

While Tissaia looks mortified, she also knows that if this is to work, she’s got to forgo some of her modesty. She nods and closes her eyes tightly, tensing a little as Yennefer pools her gown at her knees. 

“It doesn’t look like normal,” Yennefer offers for zero reason at all and with a grimace. “If you’re worried about me finding this alluring in any way.”

“I’d never dream of suggesting,” the woman sarcastically replies and then actually lets out a wail. 

It splits Yennefer into. Without thinking, she moves the stool to the side and makes her way behind Tissaia, encouraging her to mirror her position. She sends her a questioning look as Yennefer places a hand on her stomach and another below. 

“Use me to work through your pain. I will hold you through it,” Yennefer soothes quietly. 

The technique is called cradling and often performed by midwives. Yennefer isn’t sure she’s doing it right, but Tissaia seems to be calming some as the contractions come and go. 

It’s peculiar to hold Tissaia like this, closer than they’ve ever been. Yennefer alternates between brushing at Tissaia’s disheveled braid, pressing her forehead to the back of her head as she whimpers. 

There had been Sodden, a brief flash of affection on Tissaia’s part when she had cupped Yennefer’s cheek. A reciprocation of something similar when Yennefer had brought their foreheads together. 

This is that times a thousand more, Tissaia in every sense. She is absolutely everywhere.

“It’s time to push.” Yennefer leads her through it, listens to every cry ripping from Tissaia’s throat and burrowing in her heart. 

Yennefer loses sight of time, feels the press of life against her fingers. Her pulse speeds up the further along things go. 

With a cry, Tissaia lurches forward and another faint, then ear-splitting cry fills the room. Yennefer grabs the blankets and gently lays Tissaia down as she moves to clean off the babe. 

Simply put, she’s perfect. All flushed skin and gnawing on a fist, Yennefer marvels at the shock of dark hair and the blue-gray of the child’s eyes. With a snipping motion, she moves to clean off the little girl and cradles her in her arms while also putting towels under Tissaia. 

“Give me a moment,” Yennefer tells her and deposits the baby in a waiting crib while speaking a minor healing enchantment to mend Tissaia’s body. Lowering her gown, she covers her in blankets again and retrieves the child. 

Does she think of her as a daughter? Yennefer has to wonder. Ever since the botched fertility ceremony on herself, on asking if Tissaia wanted to terminate what had been done, she’s of no nevermind to know how anything will play out. 

The future is as open as the vast sky, as endless as the expansive sea. She finds herself crying as she wraps the girl in Tissaia’s embrace. 

//

The moments after handing Tissaia the child are filled with uncertainty. Yennefer has felt wholly present throughout everything but now, it’s as if she’s an outsider looking in. 

She stands awkwardly to the side, watching Tissaia nurse the youngling. Even though part of her heart feels full, the other feels out of place. Both dueling emotions swell her up. 

Tissaia raises her head from watching the girl suckle and a smile spreads across her lips. She holds out a hand and motions Yennefer forward. As if tugged by an invisible string, Yennefer edges near them both and sits gingerly on the side of the bed. 

She doesn’t know how to fill the silence, the peace seeming to come from the lack of anything being said. But Yennefer’s thoughts are chaotic in her own mind and she must let down the barrier without meaning to.

“Yennefer…” Tissaia‘s eyes go soft and she sighs. 

The thing about being full up is that when it overflows, it must go somewhere. It has to be this that propels her forward, has her softly touching Tissaia’s elbow with her right hand, and kissing her softly for the very first time. 

A kiss that pushes its way forth because of the way Tissaia looks holding the baby, for the neverending remorse Yennefer feels for putting Tissaia through this in the first place, for the absolute magic the woman radiates at having brought forth a life in the world.

 _I want to be a part of it, of this_ , Yennefer thinks as she backs away. In some version of reality, still a mother to a child she helped create. 

“Should I apologize?” she has the wherewithal to ask, lips still connected to Tissaia’s as she speaks. 

“No,” is the serene answer. 

//

Days pass and the cycle stays such. Sleep, feed, change. Tissaia is uncharacteristically good-natured to let Yennefer take over the baby while she rests, drawing Yennefer in to feel included when she’s awake to take care of the child. 

Which is ridiculous, that Yennefer was ever feeling omitted. Again, she is a split of knowing this isn’t her life and wanting it to be anyway. It feels wrong to have the yearning, of wanting Tissaia to envelop her into the fold. 

“Will you give her a name?” Yennefer ponders aloud. 

She watches the clouds form on Tissaia’s face. There’s a wistful quality to it too, an almost palpable sadness passing as well. 

“We both know that I’m not the mothering type.” With this, she brings her eyes to lock on Yennefer’s. She wants her to understand.

And at one point in time, Yennefer would have agreed. At one point, she had faced a golden dragon and had the thought flit through her mind, only to dismiss it immediately. Because even though she was on the brink of adulthood, Yennefer still needed some kind of guidance, which Tissaia provided. 

“There are more roles to the world, more dynamics that exist, than that of mother and child. Titles matter little. It’s actions that end up speaking the loudest.”

“But I failed to nurture you in the way you required,” Tissaia sounds regretful. 

“Yes,” Yennefer concedes slowly but not with malice. “But you made me into the woman I needed to be to survive. Somehow, that is greater than love.”

Tissaia motions with her hand and brings their heads together gently. “But I do love you, Yennefer. In ways that I cannot even begin to fathom. In a way that cannot be explained with words.”

And then Tissaia kisses her, deep and full of the things they’ve never said. Yennefer grips her shoulder and opens her lips, allowing for more in-depth exploration. It becomes heated, on the brink of being contained. They’re in no shape to find out right now. These things must wait for another day. 

“You finished raising me, Tissaia.”

“You raised yourself. You pushed past every boundary I set for you and became the most powerful woman I know,” Tissaia leans forward and kisses her again.

Because this is a thing, kissing between the two of them. Yennefer wonders about this, of the world to come with them in it. 

“Which is why I must ask the world of you now because I think of you as the center of mine. And the girl too,” Tissaia’s face looks afflicted, as if she’s afraid of how Yennefer will respond. “I cannot keep her, Yennefer.”

Everything slams to a halt. 

“Which is why…” Tissaia grips Yennefer’s cheek, makes her lift her head. “I need you to be her mother.” She sighs. “The depth of my heart will forever contain her, having carried her, but I know I will not truly lose her if you bring her up right. I trust you with this. You will teach her to be a strong woman.”

“She is to be mine then,” Yennefer tries to work through what’s happening, the way she has not been able to predict a singular thing in her life so far. 

“As long as Aretuza stands, as long as I do, I am its face. It is where I must be. But nearby, I want you to raise our daughter, Yennefer.”

The choice of words Tissaia has used sticks inside of her like thick honey, sweet, and beautifully shining. _Our daughter,_ Tissaia has said. For the first time in all of her life, she understands the meaning of home. Of it being in people, not places. Home is wherever love exists and Yennefer has never felt the likes of such in all of her life. 

“Okay then.” Yennefer takes the girl from Tissaia’s arms, tries to arrive at the fact that she is responsible now for the life in her arms. “Truda,” she expels out, “our little warrior woman.”

Tissaia closes her eyes in reverence at the name. Yennefer has done well, it seems. _Finally._

“You’re sure about this?” Yennefer can’t help but ask. 

“Oh, my dearest of hearts. I am adamant about it.” A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, an eyebrow raised. “Besides, I will get her again someday.”

Yennefer can’t help that grin that breaks across her face too. _You have magic, little one,_ Yennefer leans against Truda’s small head and places a kiss there. 

It seems that for all of her searching, all of the agony and strife, Yennefer has finally found her peace—in a child that was never supposed to be and in the only constant her life has ever had, Tissaia de Vries.


	2. The Early and Middle Years of Truda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, etc, etc.
> 
> Since I have the 'rona, that means a lot of quarantine writing. I'm making good on a request to continue the story of Yennefer, Tissaia, and their daughter, Truda. Hope you all enjoy. xoxo
> 
> Dedication: these final two chapters belong to “Sunshine.” Thanks for commenting and giving me the idea to continue.

It’s mid-spring and the beams of sun beat down upon the grassy fields, the stalks dancing in the cool breeze of the season. It’s of a time when wildflowers dot the horizon for as far as the eye can see, when new growth sings in the world. 

It’s Yennefer’s absolute favorite time of year, especially these days. She sits on a knoll, knees to her chest and idly pulling tufts of verdant out with her fingers, turning to cup the little blades on her hand before they blow away with the wind. 

Auburn brown hair also moves along with the ruffling air, curled strands moving along the currents. Atop those strands sit tiny white daisies creating a chain around the small head. 

When she turns, Yennefer sees her crystalline blue eyes as she lets peels of laughter escape her small little lips as she rolls down the hills and dales. Watching her warms the very essence of Yennefer’s soul. 

She’s not experienced this often: an almost perfect day. Perfect in the sense that those blue eyes turn to her looking for a lifeline, that the same voice squealing out in laughter also can drop to the sweetest cadence when it calls to her, how those auburn tresses feel when she runs her hand through them and how they smell when her nose is buried against them. 

Yennefer watches the girl and feels so overtaken with contentment that she lies back on the plush grass and rests her hands atop her chest. 

Above, the puffy white clouds roll across the cerulean sky and Yennefer closes her eyes for the briefest of moments, letting the rays of the sun cascade down and warm her skin. A smile pulls at her lips and she lets out a relaxed sigh. 

Rolling to her side, she finds the young girl again, a few meters from where she is perched. Those pale orbs turn to her, fix her with a joyous look on this almost perfect day. 

Yennefer swims in the blue of those eyes, loses herself in the thought of another set almost identical. This almost perfect day would be so if the soul that they belonged to was here as well.

Throwing a wave to the young girl, Yennefer tucks her arms under her head and finds herself drifting. Pulled along, pulled under, by the other part of her heart. _Soon, my sweet. Soon._

_The Early Years 0-5_

What is sleep? At one point in time, Yennefer was able to drift into slumber with the ease of the dead. Now, it feels as if it’s been so long since Yennefer has had a peaceful night that she’s forgotten what being rested is like. 

She affixes the nipple to the bottle (nearing the end of the supply. Will she come back? She _must_ ) and presses her fingers to the side of it to check the temperature. A mixture of goat’s milk, the rest from the body not here. Yennefer feels a pang, wonders if the baby does too for what’s absent. ( _Who_ )

“Hush, my daughter,” Yennefer coos in an effort to soothe and pushes the nipple into the eager mouth. The responding suck and ceasing of cries lower Yennefer’s chaos by degrees.

She shuffles around while Truda eats, filling the air with an old song from many years ago. Its origin is of as much mystery as are the words, but she speaks them anyway, liking the tune. 

This is one of those wearisome nights that seem to last forever. Gone is the warm familiarity of the beginning, the closeness they’d knit together—just the three of them. Their triumvirate is now a duo and for as much as Yennefer sought this life, crossed miles of the Continent to find the end result of what lies in her arms, she knows that the picture is wrong. 

The picture is incomplete because both she and Truda are here in the little cabin in the swamps where she was born, but Tissaia is missing. The halls and rooms of Aretuza hold her once more and that brief version of the life they had begun to live is but a memory.

Yennefer feels the inside of her body lurch. She feels incredibly lonely, even with Truda in her arms. 

The thought causes her to lean in, to take in the scent of the babe’s skin, and she runs a finger through the wispy brown locks on her head. She whispers against it in a low voice.

“Your mother is probably slumbering away while you and I come to know the night. But I assure you little one, in a few hours, the sounds of cries will erupt from other young girls as she makes them feel completely inadequate at magic,” Yennefer begins. “Someday, she will likely do the same to you.”

She stops, remembering. How tough Tissaia had been, how unrelenting sometimes. Despite all of that, Yennefer came to love her anyway. A smile curls on her lips. “Just know that it doesn’t mean she doesn’t care for you. That she doesn’t love you. In fact, it’s your mother’s strange way of showing the exact opposite.”

By this point, the milk is all but gone and Truda’s brow is creased in tiny baby concentration, no doubt wanting Yennefer to stop her yammering and let her get some rest. But the girl must know, for Yennefer will not allow her to grow up otherwise, that the woman on another shore also loves her beyond words. 

“I miss her,” Yennefer finally sits in the rocker close to the hearth, the warmth still funneling out. 

She pulls Truda closer, closes her eyes. She hopes that they both fall asleep with thoughts of Tissaia in their minds. 

_**…** _

The thin fabric at the girl’s knee is torn, flesh jagged, and blood seeping. Yennefer rubs her temples and sighs, hoisting the girl from her hip to the table. 

A thin whimper escapes the toddler and tears wait to fall at the corners of her blue eyes. She is trying to be brave. Yennefer feels proud but also wishes the girl understood that she doesn’t have to be courageous all of the time. 

“Sometimes, things hurt,” Yennefer looks up from grinding a healing paste. She could use a spell, but she’d rather teach Truda the importance of natural remedies too. _Not everyone and everything we love will always contain magic._

She doesn’t know why she thinks it. It comes from almost nowhere. _Because there had been someone else many years ago._ Yennefer shakes her head to dislodge the thought. 

True enough, she’d loved someone before Tissaia. Had even thought about making a life with him. As soon as the spell had gone awry though, when the soul sitting in front of her had attached to the still intact womb, there had been no other path in Yennefer’s mind. The choice was made.

As she unravels the bolted linen though, there is no guarantee that the girl will grow up and call a sorcerer (or sorceress. Yennefer smiles at this) hers. For love is fickle and hard to pin. The heart in this one’s chest might come to love someone as plain as day. Which, of course, would be alright too. 

“What have I told you about running down that hill?” Yennefer appraises the scuff on the small leg, dips her fingers into the paste, and watches as Truda bites her lip to stifle a cry. So big for only four. 

“But mum,” the girl begins. “I saw a butterfly and they’re so rare here in the swamps. I had to catch it.”

“And now you’ve got a torn-up knee for your efforts,” a voice behind them calls out. 

They both turn to see the small woman waiting in the wings, hands clasped and an eyebrow raised. A smirk plays upon her lips. 

Yennefer rolls her eyes. “You can pop in and play amused all you wish, but we both know that inside, you’re a mess.”

Tissaia breaks immediately and shuffles to the girl on the counter, effectively knocking Yennefer out of the way as she breezes by. Yennefer splutters a bit but recovers enough to watch the exchange in front of her. 

For as hard a woman as she’s been in the past, Tissaia is downright malleable when in the presence of their daughter. 

“Please tell me that your mum has been taking the absolute best care of you since I’ve been away,” Tissaia waves a hand across Truda’s knee and the open wound becomes but a scar. 

Yennefer throws her hands up, flipping the bandage behind her and waving the paste around on her fingers as a reminder. She leans up against Tissaia’s back, places her hand without the cream on it on the woman’s waist, and whispers roughly in her ear. 

“So much for teaching her other healing remedies.” For extra fluster, she digs her fingers into Tissaia’s hip and presses her front more flush against her. 

A small gasp escapes the woman, but she quickly recovers, bending in front of Truda so that they can connect with the same blue eyes. 

“And what is this of a butterfly?” Tissaia asks. 

“I did see one, Mother! I swear it!” Her face falls. “But it got away.”

Yennefer watches as Tissaia flips over Truda’s small palm and places it facing up. Glancing down, she sees Tissaia’s fingers work and senses a candle flicker out, the smoke rising and floating to where she and the girl are. 

In Truda’s palm, the smoke morphs and flutters, wings forming out of the ether to flap in the air atop her hand. She cries out in wonder, just like she does every time Tissaia shows her a bit of magic. Reverent of it, fascinated. 

“There may not always be another butterfly,” Tissaia explains softly. “But that does not mean that we cannot take a look at the things around us and make beauty from them too.” The small smoke creature beats its wings. 

“This is the lesson you’ve breezed in to teach?” Yennefer asks cynically. “Not showing up to change a soiled cloth or hold a bottle in the deep of night or wash a muddy dress for the hundredth time?”

Yennefer suddenly feels contrite though because Tissaia has done all of those things and more. However, she’s also been missing for her fair share as well. 

Tissaia buries Truda in loud and sloppy kisses, squeals of laughter peeling off into the room as she wraps her arms around Tissaia’s neck and does the same rambunctious pecks when she gets a chance. Her giggles make Yennefer feel less contrary. 

So does Tissaia when she backs away, one arm still holding onto Truda and the other encircling Yennefer. 

“I couldn’t go another day without giving my best girls a kiss,” she responds and leans in to take Yennefer’s mouth against her own. 

Any retort Yennefer might muster withers as Tissaia kisses it all away. 

_Middle years 5-10_

It is a lovely day, an almost perfect day. Truda has just reached her seventh year and this is the celebration of it. 

Before the grass and the sun, there had been a new dress and a parcel with twine of sweet treats waiting for her when she woke. 

Yennefer had promised to take her to the fields where the doe and their young are known to roam. They’d picked daisies and woven them together, the halo of them draped atop the chestnut locks. 

Seven beautiful and wonderful years. But not magical. Truda is yet to display any sense of the Art. Yennefer trusts Tissaia’s judgment though. It will occur someday. 

_**...** _

The fight is rather large and brought on by the things they carry every day—the absence of the one that belongs with them, the love for her that they both have that doesn’t get an outlet near enough. 

Oh, how they both ache for her. How they both live with her ghost when she appears and then vanishes again. 

They both say the words, that they understand honor and duty. That they know of position and responsibility. But while Yennefer supposes Truda pulls the agreement forth from a place of stories and other minor references, Yennefer knows from truth. 

That while duty and responsibility and the greater good of the moment often take precedence, all pale in comparison to the love that a heart feels. And because of this, one can never truly understand. 

It’s been far too long since they’ve seen her, since they’ve been bathed in her warmth that exists only with the two of them, since they’ve felt the comfort of her touch. They both yearn for the Rectoress of the school overlooking the sea, yet neither one of them can do a thing about it.

This is the life that Yennefer agreed to, the one Truda was brought into. She wipes a bit of sweat from her brow and motions for Truda to raise her wooden practice sword again. A scowl paints the girl’s features and she makes no motion.

“How am I teach you to defend yourself against drowners or water hags if you do not take your training seriously?” Yennefer bites out. She’s tired. She’s weary. She is oftentimes shite at being a mother. 

“Why do I need to?” Truda actually whines and Yennefer feels her blood pressure rise. “Fighting is for men.”

Yennefer barks out a scoff. “A lot of those wandering around, are there? Gods, girl. You’ve got to learn to get your head out of the fairy tale books and watch out for your own neck.” 

To make a point, Yennefer lunges with a swipe of her own sword. Frustratingly, (wonderfully) Truda spins with agility and grace, bringing up a feint. 

Their boots squish in the bog, mud sucking as they spin and parry one another. “I find this dreadfully boring though.” Truda sighs. 

Yennefer makes an arching swipe. “Defending oneself is hardly boring.” Their swords connect. “I’ve developed quite an affinity for living as of late. You should do the same.”

“We are always together. You can take care of the wayward creatures we encounter,” Truda throws the sword off of her own. 

“I’d hate to see the day I’m not around and you’ve gotten yourself in a precarious situation,” Yennefer shakes her head and backs away. 

She stills when she sees the absolute blazing fury in Truda’s eyes. Her knuckles are white against the hilt of her sword. Oh, no…

Yennefer looks down at her arm, sees the hairs rise with static energy. Her mouth drops open and she can practically feel the waves undulating off of the girl. 

“Truda—“

A ferocious blow for someone of Truda’s size strikes Yennefer. She feels a bit off-center as she looks at the storm in blue irises. 

“Do you intend to leave, Mum?” _Thwack_ . “Is that something you are planning on?” _Crack._ “To leave me alone and without you, just like Mother has done?” _Swing._

Yennefer is doing little to fend off the volley of hits. “Truda, no. I’m here for you, always. Just like your mother…”

“No!” Truda roars and rains down another blow. “Do you see Mother here? Do you?” Her voice cracks as her sword does too. “She’s not here and she hardly ever is and I hate it!”

Yennefer feels it coming before it hits, the concussive blow of chaos flowing out of Truda like a tidal wave. She has just enough time to mutter a shield spell as the air pushes out and sends a deafening pop throughout her ear canal. 

When it’s over, her ears ring, and she unflinches. Opening her eyes, Yennefer surveys their surroundings. 

Truda stands panting, sword completely splintered in her hands and long brown hair escaping from the knot at the nape of her neck, bangs covering some of her face. Around them, there are trees with bark blown off and water blasted away from them in a twenty-yard radius. 

Tears flow down Truda’s cheeks and Yennefer finds herself working to catch her own breath. Her eyes are wide and she works to get a grip.

She’s known this moment was coming for years and yet now that it’s here, she has no idea what to do. Luckily, the person standing behind Truda does.

Tissaia’s brows are knit, concern and sincerity etched on her face. Her strong jaw is set and her lips thin as she watches the two of them together. 

“It’s time, girls,” she makes her way closer, resting a gentle touch to Truda’s arm as she stands beside her. They both look to Yennefer. “Let’s go home.”

Truda turns into Tissaia’s touch and sags immediately when enveloped in her arms. A crying wail fills the bog. 

Yennefer drops to her knee, the practice sword thunking to the ground. She closes her eyes. For the first time in a long time, she breathes. 


	3. The Older and Adult Years of Truda

_Older years 10-15_

Whatever Truda thinks of Aretuza, of where Tissaia has spent her time when away from the two of them, she doesn’t speak of it. Instead, she sits stark still and watches as Tissaia explains the school.

Yennefer herself is having a much harder time than their daughter. She’s already had to shut down the idea of toying with any number of knick-knacks on Tissaia’s desk because getting chastised in front of Truda doesn’t seem like the way to begin her schooling. 

“Are there any questions?” Tissaia’s tone is matter of fact. She’s in the mode of Rectoress, not the woman who birthed one of the most promising mages of the upcoming years. 

Or at least that’s what Yennefer likes to think. Unsure of if the girl can even sustain a spell, much less lift a rock, Yennefer is hedging her bets a bit with the scene in the bog. 

Also, a plethora of questions squawk in Yennefer’s mind, but she knows better to speak them. The query was for Truda’s benefit, not her own. _A far cry from tossing me in a room and making me figure it out._

Yennefer gnaws on that a little bitterly, watching Tissaia sit on the edge of her desk in front of Truda. Finally, she loses the battle of willpower and does flick at a trinket box. Her nerves have gotten the best of her, as have the memories. 

The lid clatters off of the top, revealing Tissaia’s stash of tobacco that she swore she did not use anymore. Yennefer eyes it and tilts her head in Tissaia’s direction.

_~I never uttered such a thing and don’t make a thing of it._

Yennefer’s back straightens a little as she replaces the lid gently. _Oh? And what’s in it for me if I_ don’t _make a thing of it?_

 _~I will make it_ very _worth your while later on._

Even the mere insinuation of something has Yennefer placing her hands in her lap and trying to adopt her best behavior. It’s been what seems like months since she’s felt Tissaia anywhere intimate, has had to imagine her own fingers as the woman’s before her. She’s likely not to mess up the chance of them actually being so when it is presented. 

“Do I get to call you ‘Mother’ in front of the class?” Truda wonders, breaking them both out of their telepathic connection. 

For a moment, Tissaia looks flustered and Yennefer grins. Then her face fades and one of sadness overtakes. “I’d love that, sweet girl, but I suppose you must address me as the other girls do. As Rectoress.” 

She leans in so that their foreheads are touching for a few moments. Then she runs her nose along Truda’s and they both let out a laugh. “But I will be there at the end of every day to give you all of my love.” 

Tissaia works to stand and pulls Truda up into a tight embrace. After a while, she raises her head and motions for Yennefer to join them, which she does. 

Yennefer loses herself in thought once they’re both in Tissaia’s arms. She leans her head against the smaller woman’s and wraps an arm around Truda’s shoulders, but she is very far away. 

“Why do you look troubled?” A soft hand to her cheek pulls her out. 

“I worry for her,” Yennefer whispers. “I remember my own time here. Failing over and over again.” This is quiet too.

“Failure is what makes us who we are, not our successes.”

“Tell that to those in the pit,” Yennefer hisses. 

Tissaia jerks away and shoots Yennefer a glare. “I’ll not have a decades-old argument with you. Not today, not now.” She pats Truda and motions to the shelf. “Go and grab the spell books, my dear.”

Tissaia burns a look into Yennefer as Truda walks away. “You think I would turn our daughter to the pits?” Her voice is venom, but her face is clouded over with hurt. 

It’s hard to be anything different from what she’s always been and this has been Yennefer’s grand lesson in life (one she albeit is still learning). To not slip into old hurt, to not lose sight of what Tissaia has given her recently, and leave behind what the woman took from her before. 

These are the dark thoughts that warp her speech. “I think you might.” And if Yennefer feels ripped apart from saying it, she cannot even begin to fathom what Tissaia feels hearing it. 

Much like their daughter, whatever she thinks goes unsaid and her mind remains a lock when Yennefer nudges against it in supplication. She’s overloaded her mouth and she knows it. 

Tissaia gets within a breath of her, looks into her eyes, and stares that unnerving stare. The one that used to make Yennefer’s hackles rise. Now, it ruffles her in a different way. 

Slowly, Tissaia leans in. Yennefer’s eyes slide shut and Tissaia is kissing her more sensually, with more emotion than Yennefer has ever felt from her. It’s so hard not to get caught up in it, the way Tissaia presses her palm into the small of Yennefer’s back and pours everything into the mouths sliding across one another. 

Just when Yennefer is well dazed, Tissaia disconnects and leaves her with her mouth agape. 

“Then after a century, you still don’t know me at all.”

With a flurry of air, the woman has ducked out and away from Yennefer’s body, leaving her floundering. She supposes it’s what she deserves. It’s her turn to be taken apart with words. 

“Show Truda to her room.” Yennefer turns at the command and sees the two of them standing in wait, Truda gripping her book of spells. 

Tissaia’s observance of Yennefer exiting with their daughter burns in her back. She hangs her head and knows that at some point, she’s got to let the past go and let this new Tissaia in. 

**…**

The first trial is approaching and Yennefer is on edge, in more ways than one. Her mind is a muddled mess even though Tissaia is working her to the brink. Yennefer snaps her eyes shut and tries to ride on the sensations, but she just can’t clear the wall over into absolute pleasure. 

Frustrated, she works to flip them so that Tissaia is underneath. Maybe having a different angle will help to ease her mind. 

For a while, Tissaia’s breathy pants do the trick but then Yennefer loses focus again and is just rutting against her in futility. Her head jerks and she tries to move it, but Tissaia has gotten her pinned fairly well between her thumb and forefinger. 

“You’re distracted,” she says, pointing out the obvious. Yennefer bats her hand away with a frown, tosses her own wild hair over her shoulder, and tries to work her way down Tissaia’s bare body.

“I’m—“

“Not so fast, Yennefer of Vengerberg,” Tissaia grabs and pulls her back up. Yennefer hovers over her, chest heaving from exertion but no climactic end. “You may have your mind closed off right now, but I can read your face like a book.”

“Must we do this right now? I see you so little as it is and don’t want to squander this opportunity of having you wonderfully without clothing beneath me,” Yennefer dismisses and then lunges for Tissaia’s jugular, grating her teeth hotly against her neck. 

“We both know that this night is about to end as far as couplings go if you don’t divulge what’s got you all worked up. I can practically feel your chaos vibrating off of you,” Tissaia scolds. 

Her hands gently push Yennefer off and the mood wilts. Growling, Yennefer pushes off of Tissaia and sits on the edge of the woman’s bed. Spotting a cup, Yennefer reaches for it and takes a swill of wine before standing up, nervously pacing. 

Tissaia says nothing but moves a sheet over her, apparently fine with waiting for Yennefer to come forth with the truth. 

“I want to be there tomorrow,” Yennefer blurts eventually. 

“Absolutely not,” is the immediate answer. Yennefer had been expecting this though. “It’s the initial magical trials and I’ll not have you as a distraction to the group, myself included.”

“I just remember how hard it was for me to get that first spell,” Yennefer buries her face in a hand, remembering. 

She shudders at the way Fringilla’s hand had dried up and turned black. Of how she herself had said the same stupid incantation over and over again while Tissaia’s vision had scorched her skin, the stench of her own failure permeating the entire room. A hand on her wrist shatters her trance. 

“It took weeks, Tissaia. Weeks of feeling like a fool while you watched me struggle. I don’t want Truda to experience the same thing,” she admits. 

“Which is proof of exactly why you _don’t_ need to be there,” Tissaia shakes her head. She’s risen to her knees now, the sheet long abandoned. “Magic takes precisely how long it should. I don’t know where our daughter will fall on the spectrum: getting it rather quickly or taking a bit more time.”

She brings a hand to Yennefer’s cheek, pulls her closer to her on the bed with the other. Her blue eyes are as sincere as Yennefer has ever seen them. She’s making her a promise. 

“No matter what happens, I’ll watch over her, Yennefer. She’s ours. I’ll not leave her behind.” To seal it, she places a kiss on the curve of Yennefer’s jaw. “Let us not worry about what tomorrow holds. Be present here, now. Come and make love to me.”

It is hard to refuse Tissaia at all anymore. It is especially hard to do so when she is naked. _I’m such a sucker,_ she decides. A fool that fell in love with the most enchanting person she’s ever known. 

**…**

The next day is the slowest one Yennefer has ever had to live, the longest one she has had to endure. 

By the time the sun starts to wane, there’s not a surface of Tissaia’s office that Yennefer hasn’t overturned or pilfered through in some type of way. There is also a rather large pitcher confusingly empty and Yennefer sways a little on her feet as she sits down the also dry glass. 

Behind her, the wooden door creaks and shuts. Before it can almost close, Yennefer is leaking out a flurry of words. 

“Did she lift it?” How did she do? Is she alright?” The barrage of questions flies to Tissaia’s ears.

“What would our daughter think if she knew her mother had partaken in a bit too much red wine while she was going through her stone trial?” Tissaia tsks and makes her way to her desk.

She stops and delivers a quick peck to Yennefer’s cheek before frowning and waving off the liquor smell. 

“Oh, don’t act as if you wouldn’t be in the same position were our roles reversed,” Yennefer doesn’t care much for the lack of concern for her own feelings. She asks the questions again but this time, Tissaia’s face looks grim.

“She did not,” no more leaves Tissaia’s mouth than Yennefer breaks for the door. 

The lock is thrown quickly and Yennefer spins around to see Tissaia with a hand up, magicking the door to remain between Yennefer and Truda. 

“She will be alright. Give her time,” Tissaia tries. 

“When I had time, I broke a mirror and made a stupid choice,” Yennefer snaps. 

“Truda is the best of both of us and hopefully not the worst. We have to trust her to grow up without us tugging her in the direction we think she should go like a marionette. She’s going to have to know how to have the world against her, Yenna.”

The name deflates Yennefer immediately, for it’s only reserved in times that Tissaia feels the need to pull Yennefer back from the brink of her own self-destruction. It’s a balm and works as such. Yennefer sags. 

“Why can loving either one of you never be easy?” Yennefer sighs and wraps her arms around Tissaia.

“I would think it not worth it if it were, don’t you?” Tissaia presses the muffled words into Yennefer’s chest. “You’ve always been drawn to challenges anyway.”

“Tell me she will be alright,” Yennefer holds Tissaia’s face in her hands, imploring her to speak the words again so that they might glue to Yennefer’s heart and slow it some. 

“Our daughter will be just fine.”

The thousandth time she’s like heard it, ‘our daughter’ and Tissaia’s reassurances. It wallops Yennefer just like the very first time. _Ours_. The soul they love together. 

**…**

“Again,” Tissaia says with little inflection. 

“No.”

Yennefer whips her head around, the old spell volume momentarily forgotten. 

Truda stands defiantly at her podium in front of her, the picture of cool arrogance and poise. _Just like her mother…_

The look on Tissaia’s face could freeze a pond on a hot summer day. Yennefer bites her lip and readies for the inevitable, remembering a similar wariness five years prior. 

“You have your Mum’s mouth, I see.” Tissaia is thoroughly unamused with the insolence. 

Yennefer wonders why, after all of this time and her own flapping jaws, the woman is not better equipped to handle it. After all, she chose a life partner with a strong-willed soul and birthed another. She’s 0 for 2 on being the most self-assured in a room anymore. 

“And yet it’s your face I see when I look in the mirror,” Truda counters and Yennefer sucks in a breath. 

True enough, the girl has come into her own. Her long hair resembles the hue of Tissaia’s and her eyes are almost an exact match. While her nose is a little longer and forehead a tad broader, she bears the same striking cheekbones and leveling grin. 

Yennefer can only imagine the broken hearts she will soon leave in her wake. _Gods help the Continent_ , Yennefer thinks. 

“Is that supposed to be a jab?” Tissaia cocks an eyebrow. 

And Yennefer would fully be enjoying this charged banter if one person, in particular, wasn’t looking to her for a little aid and who also wasn’t in control of Yennefer either using her own hand or having one lent to her in her own type of aid. Yennefer shrugs a little, not wanting to get involved. 

“It is what it is,” Truda shrugs too. 

“So are you and I to be at odds for all of your teenage years?” Tissaia bites out, agitation clear now. 

“Sometimes, I fucking hate magic,” Truda mumbles, and Yennefer bolts upright. 

“Now that’s quite enough from you, young woman,” Yennefer admonishes and crosses her arms. “You’re on your way to the life of an adult but you’ve not reached it yet. And until you do, you’ll do as both I and your Mother say, is that understood?” 

Truda fixes them both with a glare before wordlessly exiting the classroom. When the doors slam shut, Tissaia brings her head to rest on her own podium.

“I’ll not make it through this one,” she mutters. 

Yennefer frowns and begins to rub at Tissaia’s back. “Come now. You’ve dealt with many a contrary girl before.”

Tissaia rises and her face twists in consternation. “Yes, but none of those girls were our daughter either.” With a flick of her wrist, she extinguishes the candles around the room and heads to the door. 

Yennefer grabs her hand before she exits, lacing their fingers together. Leaving the room like this is not something that they do often but on particularly troubling days, Tissaia allows Yennefer to hold her as they walk along. If anyone has ever commented on it to Tissaia, the Rectoress has not said. 

“It seems Truda has adopted some of your colorful language,” Tissaia grumbles as they walk along. 

A few sorceresses glance at them but quickly avert their eyes. When Tissaia tries to pull away, Yennefer grips her harder. 

“Do I need to deal with her swiftly?” Yennefer tilts her head with a grin. 

“Perhaps it is not she that needs to be punished but her Mum instead.” The tone is jestful, but it hits Yennefer in the most delicious of spots. 

When they turn the corner, Yennefer shuffles them out of sight and presses Tissaia firmly into the wall, kissing her playfulness out of her. Well, almost. 

“Then show me how naughty I’ve been, Rectoress de Vries,” Yennefer tries for sultry, but Tissaia bursts into laughter. 

It’s contagious and they both find themselves doing so. “My girls,” Tissaia smiles. “Always keeping me on my toes.”

 _And don’t you forget it_ , Yennefer thinks as she burrows her nose into Tissaia’s hair, inhaling the scent of her. Being encompassed by all that she is. 

_Adult years 15-20_

From the second Truda was conceived (has it really been seventeen years already since Yennefer screwed up colossally and also did the best thing ever?) Yennefer has been a ball of chaos. 

Out of her and Tissaia, she is the worrier. The one that tosses around the endless possibilities of what could or might happen. She’s done it since the second Truda drew air into her lungs and so has gone that pattern for the last almost two decades. 

But for every worry Yennefer has ever had, _this_ has her absolutely beside herself. Court assignments are to be parceled out soon and the fact is not only out of her hands but Tissaia’s also.

True, Tissaia has years of influence over where her sorceresses end up but when all is said and done, the final say goes to the members of the Chapter. Tissaia reminds her of such as they sit together one night, huddled together not for warmth but for comfort. 

“You’ll stall your heart out if you don’t calm it,” Tissaia warns, her ear pressed against Yennefer’s chest as Yennefer’s arms hold her tightly. 

“I would if I could but I can’t so…” Yennefer trails off, unapologetic about the status of her thoughts. She knows Tissaia is concerned too. 

“You lose yourself in things beyond either of our control, my dear.” She shifts a little and casts her eyes upward. “It will be alright.”

“It’s not just court assignments, Tissaia,” Yennefer sighs. “It’s the enchantment too.” Her own heart aches again.

Tissaia sobers at this and sits up. Her face goes clouded and she purses her lips, turning to look out across the waves below. “And here we are again after I asked you several years ago to trust me with our daughter.”

“I know, Tissaia, but I cannot shake it. The memory of it all. Granted I bucked you at every turn and went against your advisement but...I can still remember the pain. It was the absolute worst of my life.” Yennefer shudders. 

“That is not the process. You chose to forgo herbal remedies to essentially knock you out for the duration of it,” Tissaia reminds. 

“Herbal induced trance or not, Tissaia, the result would still be the same,” she seethes a bit. “It’s why I was destined to walk through life without a womb. You cannot yank our daughters!” 

Yennefer finds herself desperately clutching at Tissaia, pressing her fingers against the woman’s belly where her own sits below the skin. She implores Tissaia with her eyes and words. 

“Give her a choice. Let her grow older and fall in love and know the miracle of life that you and I got to experience together because it was not a part of life when you were assigned. Forget what you’ve put in that stupid fucking book. Don’t let her walk the Continent infertile like me.”

Yennefer knows Tissaia has never been fond of begging, but she’s not above it now. 

“And if I let her have that choice, what of others? This is beyond what I wrote. You know this life is not suited for a child.”

“Yet look at Truda. She has defied the odds. She’s ours and we made her together and she’s beautiful and perfectly flawed and I’d have it no other way.” Yennefer brushes a thumb over Tissaia’s cheek. “If ever there was a time to start thinking anew, this is it.”

Tissaia buries her head in Yennefer’s neck. She moves it from side to side and Yennefer can pick up the bits and pieces of Tissaia’s weariness. “Many copies,” Yennefer murmurs what Tissaia is thinking. 

“That we would need to find a purge from the various magical libraries on the Continent,” Tissaia commiserates. It’s hard not to feel daunted. 

Yennefer tries to make light of the task at hand. “Well, I’ve got a bit of time on my hands.” She smiles when Tissaia looks wryly at her. “It could be something we all do together, you, Truda, and I. Before she’s assigned.”

Tissaia lets out the breath she was holding and Yennefer watches her shake her head. “We leave at first light. Tell your daughter the sun determines her rising tomorrow, not her own will.”

“Oh, so she’s mine when she sleeps past its appearance?” 

“And every other wild and stubborn thing she does from the beginning until the end.”

“Right, because having a stubborn bone in her body is not something that her Rectoress mother has _at all_.” 

Suddenly, Tissaia stands and levels Yennefer with a look. Slowly, she traces a hand up to where her gown drapes on her shoulders. She runs a finger underneath it, threatens skin. Yennefer swallows, already salivating at the prospect. 

Then in a coy gesture, she rests it back in place. Shrugs. “I’m quite sure I have no idea what you mean.” With that, she flutters away with her silken gown trailing behind her. 

Yennefer, not one to ever sit, follows dutifully behind.

**…**

Rounding up the copies of _The Poisoned Source_ proves far more complicated than originally thought. Present company included agreeing as Yennefer holds the ladder for Truda who hovers above them scanning the shelves. 

“Breaking and entering were not on my list of ways to obtain the copies,” Tissaia says sourly. She looks thoroughly chuffed and Yennefer quite loves it. 

“But isn’t it fun?” Yennefer raises her shoulders and smiles conspiratorially. “This jaunt will likely be one that Truda never forgets.”

“I don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to be looking for,” Truda says in frustration and motions to the shelves. “It’s not as if you all put your, oh, I don’t know, _names_ on the spines.” She waves broadly, shaking the ladder in Yennefer’s hands.

“Oi, knock it off, will you? Think of this as a right of passage. Some girls must look for needles in haystacks. You’ve got to peruse dusty old volumes for a very bad book your Mother wrote many years ago,” Yennefer calls up to her, a self-satisfied smile crossing her lips. 

Tissaia glowers. “It’s a rather thick volume with green and gold binding.” She looks affronted at Yennefer’s stare and shuffles on her feet. “What? It was a different time and I had a lot of... _feelings_ about sorceresses as mothers.” 

“Which has obviously changed,” Yennefer seeks clarification, reassurance. 

“Enough for me to be standing here,” Tissaia counters and Yennefer supposes that has to be enough.

The seasons have changed more often than Tissaia has, Yennefer suspects, so she will have to take this as the small victory it is. While she still might believe the words she wrote down many years ago, her belief in Yennefer and Truda is greater. 

A book drops from above and smacks on the floor with a loud pop. Yennefer and Tissaia’s heads swivel up to look at Truda’s impish smirk. “Oh, heads up, Mothers.”

“Still yours,” Tissaia shakes her head and picks up the book. 

Yennefer laughs as Truda climbs down and comes to stand between them. She already rises a few inches taller than Tissaia but their profiles are an almost exact match. Yennefer’s heart swells with love for them both. 

“So this is what we risked neck and limb for?” Truda frowns and flips open a dusty page. 

“My life’s work,” Tissaia breathes but then quickly amends. “Before you.”

“And a rather antiquated way of looking at the world.” Yennefer snatches it from Truda’s hand and stuffs it at her breast behind the black vest she wears. “Now let’s portal out of her before a rather crotchety Druid finds out we’ve defiled his precious library.”

“How a troll ever wound up with my work, I’ll never know,” Tissaia pinches off in disdain. 

Yennefer wraps her arms around both Truda and Tissaia’s waist, bringing them to be smushed together. “As if this is the strangest place we will visit. Five more to go.”

And in a blink, they all enter the portal and leave the room. 

**…**

The hiss and pop of the fire shine in their eyes as they quietly watch the fluttering pages grow black and crisp to ash. Each volume flames and then crusts into nothingness. The three of them watch in silence as they burn. 

When the fire mostly dies, only glowing embers left, they make their way to the tent erected on the lands of Velen. It’s a nice change of pace from the brutal winds whipping at the heavy fabric of their tent, snow billowing in too from the Skellige winter. 

Furs line the floor and Yennefer motions the other two women in (because Truda is a woman in her own right now) before settling herself on the outside of them. Truda is sandwiched between. 

“It’s been some time since we’ve all lain together like this,” Tissaia says softly and scoots closer to Truda. Her hand reaches for Yennefer on the other side. 

“Yes, because you and Mum are usually entangled in your sheets as well,” Truda quips.

“You’ll do well to still be sexually attracted to your mate at our age,” Yennefer defends. “Especially your Mother’s there.”

“Just because I’ve been alive for a very long time does not mean I have shriveled to nothingness. I still have wants, desires.”

Truda’s fingers shoot to her ears and she snaps her eyes shut. “Gods, I was merely jesting. From neither of you was I looking for a recounting of your couplings.”

“We spent many years apart when you were younger,” Yennefer teases in Truda’s ear. “Just imagine how ready we were to see one another when…”

“I’ll walk out of this tent right now, Mum, I swear it,” Truda holds up a hand. 

“Now who’s being who’s daughter,” Yennefer waggles her eyebrows at Tissaia, who looks on with a smile. 

To Truda’s mercy, they both quiet their goading, and everyone can tell Tissaia has retreated into herself again. Truda glances to her right. 

“You’re elsewhere, Mother. What troubles you?” She raises a hand and brushes it through Tissaia’s hair. 

“Oh, nothing of mention.”

“It’s the books,” Truda supplies knowingly. Her face goes caring. “It must have been hard for you, watching us burn them tonight.”

“I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt,” Tissaia admits. “But I’ve learned that there are far more important things in this life than being stuck to a way of thinking.” She strokes Truda’s face. “You and your Mum? You two are my always.”

Truda drifts to sleep not long after, comforted between the arms of the two women who love her beyond everything. Yennefer would love to drift too, but she cannot. Tomorrow looms.

“Where will she go, Tissaia?” Yennefer whispers so as not to wake their daughter between them. _Another almost perfect day._

Tissaia doesn’t provide an answer and burrows deeper into Truda’s side. Yennefer has to wonder: does Tissaia know and not want to tell Yennefer? Or is she as clueless as Yennefer is?

Rather than lose herself to it, Yennefer squeezes Tissaia’s hand and tries to enjoy the final few moments of them being together.

**…**

The news of Truda’s assignment comes the next morning, not long after they’ve arrived. Yennefer is in Tissaia’s chambers (well, theirs really) when Yennefer exits the bath to see Tissaia standing nervously in wait. 

She shrugs on the robe and walks quickly toward Tissaia, mindful of her still wet feet. “Tissaia, what is it?”

“She is to be sent to Rivia.”

And the air leaves the room. Or so Yennefer imagines. It’s as if her blood chills in her own veins. She opens her mouth a few times, meaning to speak, but she has no idea what to say. 

Rivia. (Right next to Aedirn)

Yennefer tries to piece together what she knows, not at all thinking about the yellow eyes of a man she once cared for deeply from the same place. 

“Queen Meve currently rules in the wake of King Reginald’s death,” Yennefer begins slowly. 

“And will value Truda’s guidance since they produced no heir to supplant them,” Tissaia tries to reason. 

“Beautiful mountain ranges and lakes. But…” Yennefer stills. “If my elven blood once prevented me from Aedirn’s court, how does that same Aedirnian blood not prevent Truda from being assigned to Rivia?” 

Aedirnians and Rivians have always had a tenuous relationship, the former finding those from Rivia thieves and calling them names. 

“Because Truda is not of your blood. She’s of mine.” Tissaia says this in a barely audible whisper. 

Yennefer’s blood is ice now. “They know?” 

Many years ago, both she and Tissaia had agreed to keep Truda’s identity a secret. For all intents and purposes, she would be known as Yennefer’s child of surprise, one grown in a restored womb from a golden dragon heart. 

While far-fetched, the tale would be easier to swallow than that of a Rectoress with her womb still intact and birthing a child from it after a botched fertility ceremony she was never supposed to be at. 

For years, it’s worked. Why, on the eve of the kingdom assignments, does the Brotherhood know?

“I don’t know,” Tissaia answers Yennefer’s internal struggle. “But she will be in lands we know. The seat of Rivian power is not far from Vengerberg.”

 _Not far from the pig pen you yanked me from._ Yennefer grumbles against the thought they are both no doubt thinking. 

“How long will it take for you to see that where you came from has never mattered?” Tissaia grabs both sides of Yennefer’s robe and pulls her close. “That I have loved you from the second I saw you there on the ground and was distraught at not having a way to show you.”

“That place was not my home. It never was,” Yennefer tells herself for the thousandth time. “It’s whenever you and Truda are.”

“You have ties to Rivia.” Tissaia speaks the other thing they’ve both been thinking. She looks so small as she says it, so unsure. 

“It’s been a few years, but yes. Geralt has been a fixture in my life for quite some time. I think we are destined to cross paths as long as the two of us are alive.” 

She’s never admitted this to Tissaia in the seventeen years they’ve been together. About how each time she sees his face, there is an unsettling pull to him. The djinn, she assumes. But it’s been very hard to resist. Resist she has though.

“I wonder of the two of you. Sometimes.”

“How often?” Yennefer grounds out. Tissaia’s fingers brush the fabric away from Yennefer’s shoulder leaving it bare. She places her lips where her fingers have been. 

“Only every time you walk away,” Tisssia smiles sadly. “Or I do.”

“Stop it now.” Yennefer threads her fingers through Tissaia’s hair at the nape of her neck. She brings their foreheads together. “Even after our daughter is a woman of court, you and I are still going to be together. Plus she’s got Ciri and they can watch after one another.”

She pushes Tissaia back to the confines of their bed, gently laying her form on top. Yennefer curls around her, resting her head in the crook of Tissaia’s neck. 

“I worry about her every single day. I have from the second her cries hit the air,” Tissaia says for what seems like the first time in her life. 

Yennefer knows it’s not though. Tissaia has been right there with her in her woeful thinking every time Yennefer was beside herself too. They’ve shared the beautiful burdens together. 

“I know.”

“I worry about you too.” Tissaia glances down. Her hand runs along Yennefer’s cheek and down to her chin. “And I’ve missed you so incredibly much throughout the years.”

“I know that too,” Yennefer nods and then silence takes over for a spell. 

“You could say you missed me too,” Tissaia pouts uncharacteristically after a bit. 

“Mmm,” Yennefer agrees and rests her lips against Tissaia’s, her hand beginning to roam. “Let me show you then.”

Then her roaming hand disappears. 

**…**

They’ve managed to make it well into another meeting of the kingdoms. Most of it, Yennefer has spent well off to the side instead of bringing it to a complete stop with theatrics like she did many years ago. Tonight belongs to Truda. To Tissaia. 

Both are an absolute vision. Tissaia is as stunning as the first kingdom meeting Yennefer saw her at, adopting a similar style of wine colored dress at Yennefer’s behest. 

Truda’s gown is also red but more modestly cut than Tissaia’s. (Also at Yennefer’s heeding) Yennefer had been waiting in the wings after Tissaia had finished with Truda’s enchantment. Nothing like what Yennefer endured, her body still keeping everything she was born with. 

“I’d say you owe me but…” Tissaia starts as she pulls up beside Yennefer. 

Yennefer leans in and grabs her ear with her teeth, whispering “You’ll get your payment later.” She points. “Let’s watch our daughter charm the dress off of Queen Meve.” At Tissaia’s pointed look, Yennefer shrugs. “What? She has two mothers. It wouldn’t be _that_ odd.” 

“Yet very hard to use that womb I left in her body if she does wind up with the Queen.” Tissaia says it matter of factly. “What happened to all of that ‘let her fall in love and make babies’ nonsense from earlier?”

Yennefer fixes her arm in the crook of Tissaia’s elbow. She’s so warm and so full of chaos. Oddly, it calms Yennefer to her core. Well, her and the wine too. Neither hurt to take the edge off.

“I seem to recall falling in love and making a baby. Granted, not in that order necessarily, but I still got my happily ever after and there’s not a man in sight.” As if to go against her words, a young mage ambles up with a swagger Yennefer cuts off at the pass. “Oh, piss off. Can’t you see I’m with the wife?”

His eyes turn the size of serving trays as he holds up his hands and backs away. Yennefer chortles at Tissaia’s shrewd look. “Must you behave in such a manner?”

“Are we forgetting that I just referred to you as my wife?”

“I thought it a slip of your tongue,” Tissaia dismisses and takes a drink from her goblet. 

“My tongue is quite good in most situations.” At Tissaia’s snort, Yennefer laughs and then stands straighter. “Oh, she looks so much like you right now.”

They both turn their attention to the traditional dance between the sorceresses and rulers. Only it’s not very traditional at all anymore, other than the fact it still happens at every assignment. Now, however, Truda lines up with Queen Meve’s hand, pressing her palm to the woman’s. 

Yennefer takes in her posture and body language. She looks confident and sure of herself as the steps begin and she follows Meve’s lead perfectly. 

“Please tell me that you aren’t going to beg for us to build a winter home in Lyria and a summer one in Rivia from here on out,” Tissaia comments, watching Yennefer observe Truda and Meve. “She’s got to navigate this herself.”

Yennefer flops a hand onto her chest is faux bitterness. “Are you accusing me of hovering?”

“You’re not?” Tissaia smiles a wicked little grin. 

“Fine,” Yennefer acquiesces. “I won’t, but you’re going to have to find something to entertain my time then.” 

The future looks wide and expansive without Truda being a constant presence. Yennefer broods a little over this, not exactly thrilled of what prospects she has, if not chasing Truda around. She supposes Tissaia won’t likely want her on her skirt tails either. 

The woman beside her looks introspective for a moment and then shrugs. “Alright,” she nods. 

Turning from her perch beside Yennefer on the wall, she reaches behind her and begins to lift the chain of the pendant off of her neck. Leaning forward, she places it over Yennefer’s chest, dangling it between her breasts. 

Yennefer’s eyes go wide as Tissaia adjusts it a little. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Tissaia shrugs again as Yennefer picks it up and touches it in awe. “I’m not.” Her gaze follows Yennefer as she messes with it. She brings her hand to Yennefer’s hair, running her fingers through it. 

“Rectoress does have a nice ring to it,” Yennefer works the idea around in her mind. 

“Yes, it does, Rectoress Vengerberg.” 

The second Tissaia says it, it’s as if a fire has been lit inside of Yennefer. Heedless of the people around, Yennefer spins quickly, pressing up against Tissaia and the wall. 

“Okay, that was a huge turn on.”

“It’s having a similar effect,” Tissaia gulps but swivels Yennefer’s hips away, shoving them apart a little. Tissaia’s face goes serious. “So, how about it?”

Her eyes trail off behind Yennefer, watching Truda dance. She smiles at their daughter and then grabs the pendant around Yennefer’s neck to get her attention again. 

“You’re such an ass,” Yennefer tells her. “How many times have I told you ‘no’ over the years?” 

“None in the last seventeen anyway,” Tissaia smirks knowingly. To remind Yennefer that she's truly the one leading them along. 

“Well, there you have it then.”

Even though she’s not been overly affectionate with Yennefer in front of others and certainly very rarely within Aretuza at all, that all seems to disappear.

Maybe it’s the magic of the night, maybe it’s the adrenaline and coinciding loss of Truda too, but Tissaia grips the sides of Yennefer’s dress at her shoulders and kisses her in a room full of mages while their daughter charms a queen. 

Maybe there are gasps. Tissaia probably doesn’t care. Yennefer absolutely doesn’t as she tastes forever on the woman’s lips. 

_**…** _

Somehow, they make it a year.

Truda is about to begin her second one in Rivia under Queen Meve and has sent a missive to both she and Tissaia: she would like for them to visit. Tissaia practically beams when she shows it to Yennefer. 

(They both reread the scroll a hundred times)

Once preparations are made, Tissaia and Yennefer set out. They’ve agreed to keep the truth of their connection mum. The last thing Meve needs is to have an excuse to suspect Truda of waning loyalty, eager to whisk away on the skirts of her mothers. 

Even though Truda has assured both of them that would never be the case because she quite likes Queen Meve, they’re to arrive under the pretense of negotiating terms with Lyria in favor to Rivia. 

Yennefer had thrown a shirt haphazardly into her pack while voicing her frustrations. “What a ridiculous thing to claim.” She muttered it first under her breath and then louder when Tissaia didn't bite. 

Instead, Tissaia frowned and worked to fold Yennefer’s shirt neatly for their travel. “Would you prefer another year to pass without seeing our daughter? I, for one, will take any story that I can get to see her.”

“Yes, but at one time, we would have actually done negotiations,” Yennefer bemoaned. She fiddled with the chain of her pendant as if to drive home the point. 

Tissaia stilled her by grabbing the piece of jewelry she herself used to always adorn. At first, it had been like missing a limb. After a year, she found she rarely missed it, if at all. 

Plus, it looked too damn good around Yennefer’s neck. “You had done so well, Rectoress, at controlling your emotions. I see we have fallen off the wagon again.”

“I am not you, nor will I ever be the one you were while wearing this chain,” Yennefer whispered in her ear. Both a good thing and a bad thing at the same time. A battle Tissaia was beyond fighting. 

The rest of their time was spent in relative silence, except for arguing about where they would place each of the bags on the horses. Truda had insisted they not show up by portal even though she’d had to announce that both former and current Rectoresses would be guests. 

When the two of them are finally standing outside of the Queen’s castle, they look excitedly at one another. As if by thought alone, Truda joins them rather quickly by the loch outside of the castle walls.

Tissaia is down off of her horse and across the space between them and Truda before Yennefer can even swing a foot over. 

_Interesting, considering she has rather short legs_. Yennefer muses this as she throws off her riding cape and crunches her boots across the rocks lining the water’s edge toward Truda. 

The woman that takes her into her embrace feels both familiar and like a stranger at once. “Hello, mothers,” Truda says between them once more. 

“Do let the woman get out more than a greeting before you smother the air from her,” Yennefer has to pull Tissaia back a bit from her locked embrace. 

Tears prickle her eyes and for such a fickle woman, she’s incredibly soft still when it comes to Truda. Yennefer understands completely. 

For a year, she and Tissaia have learned each other again. Of what and who the other is without Truda. It’s been a wonderful year of late night talks, even later nights tucked bare against one another. Of days spent learning how to run a school, lessons Yennefer never thought she would need or want. 

There are evenings of wine and dancing, both of them vying to twirl the other around in lead for just a little while. There are walks and time in the library. Wonderful, special time they’ve not had together in eighteen years.

But Truda has been the constant on their minds in everything. (almost everything...except those later nights) Missing physically but always there, no matter what she and Tissaia do. It’s been a lovely year but a long one. Now, it feels complete. 

They sit by the loch, none of them eager to be enveloped in the castle walls just yet. To begin the charade they must play. 

“How fares Queen Meve?” Yennefer glances at Truda out of the corner of her eye. The blush that forms across Truda’s cheeks is very telling. 

“Oh, Mum. She’s just great. She’s strong and courageous and doesn’t take anything from anyone,” Truda lists. 

“Hmm, sounds familiar,” Tissaia mumbles and Yennefer squints at her. 

“She’s so wise and I really feel like she can bring the countries together if the Lyrian people will listen to her. She is one of them after all.” Red creeps into her cheeks. “Mothers, she’s so beautiful.”

“Not to mention those striking scars she got from battle,” Yennefer sighs wistfully. She must hand it to their daughter: if Truda is to be smitten with anyone, Queen Meve is not a bad choice. 

“Now hold on a minute,” Tissaia sits up, throwing her shoulders back and jutting her chin. She doesn’t look a day over forty and still takes Yennefer’s breath away. 

Yennefer tells her such as she leans over for a kiss. “I only have eyes for you. But it seems like our daughter is quite taken with the Queen.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Truda waves off. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s made my time at court very rewarding in that she’s taught me much and become a great friend but…” she trails off. “I have no idea what the future holds or if my affections for her go any deeper than that.”

The sun has begun to set, painting the water of the loch with pinks, oranges, and deep purples. Another perfect day. 

Yennefer wraps her arm tighter around Truda, thinks back to when the three of them were huddled together in a tent in Velen, fresh off of book burning. The adventure they’d had, the togetherness. 

Not for the first time, Yennefer closes her eyes and sends out a thanks to the universe. That she gets to have this—some version of happiness. That she gets to file the edges away from a hard woman like Tissaia with love, that the same woman wrapped her arms around her and asked her to be a mother with her to one of the most beautiful souls she’s ever known. 

Tissaia and Yennefer have often gone about things wrong. Have their fair share of screw-ups and wrong turns. Truda is the very best though, and Yennefer is reverent of their gift. Of what they’ve been given despite their lot in life. 

“I love you, Mothers,” Truda says against the dying day. They’ll move at some point but for now, they hold tightly to one another. 

“We love you too, our darling girl,” Yennefer answers with Tissaia’s choice of words. 

She reaches across Truda’s body, seeking Tissaia’s hand, and kisses it once she finds it. She places another peck on Truda’s cheek and snuggles in closer. They all lean together with their heads huddled beside the other. 

A perfect day. A happy day. Neither achieved without the two pieces of Yennefer’s heart sitting contentedly in her arms. 


End file.
